Death of the Ayn Rand Scholar Read online

“What’s your topic?” As she asked, Jillian remembered her own process. She recalled that the advisors try to prepare you, but it’s a very different experience than writing the usual term paper…lots of revisions.

  “Well, Professor Siemens, she’s is an Ayn Rand scholar, and won’t really work with anyone who isn’t writing a paper on her? I’d come-up with a couple of topics that I thought of when I took one of her classes last fall. I thought they were, like OK topics…I even wrote an abstract for both of them to show her, you know, like the advisors tell us? But, she didn’t like my topics so much, and she suggested something else. She, like wanted me to do an analysis of references to Rand’s novels in other places, like book reviews for other authors…stuff like that?“

  “How do you do that?”

  “It’s all, like web-based, you know, on the net…whatever. As it turns out, it’s an OK topic. There’s a lot of references to her novels. I think the reason Professor Siemens wanted me to study this is because she wants to present the results at a conference she’s putting together during Spring Semester. She has a couple of other students also doing projects that she thought of, too? ‘Course, now…I don’t know. About the conference, or about my thesis. It’s too late to start something new, so I’m a little freaked-out?”

  “Well, as it happens, I graduated from ASU also with an honors certificate.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, several years ago. And I remember this one student whose thesis director left for a job at another university, right before her senior year. She was really sweating it.”

  “What happened?” Jillian could hear that Ms. Nagel had perked-up.

  “OK, so the student was a Poly Sci major. And what happened is that the person who initially was her second reader agreed to direct it. And either another professor…or maybe it was someone in the Honors College…came on as the new second reader. Anyway, it worked out OK.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Main thing, I’d make an appointment and talk to your advisor in the Honors College. Let them know what’s going on, and I’m sure they’ll help.”

  “OK, I will.

  “Ms. Nagel, can you tell me anything about how it was to work with Professor Siemens?”

  “Yah, well, she’s OK. Maybe not the friendliest professor I’ve ever had…she’s not someone you’d, like describe as pro-student, but, she’s OK.”

  “May I ask…why’d you decide to work with her, then? Are you a big Ayn Rand fan?”

  “Not really. Honestly, I’d never heard of Ayn Rand. It was my dad, actually.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Yah, like, he’s a businessman…OK, I’m from Kansas, and my dad owns a chain of groceries…they’re mostly in Kansas. He’s also in the Kansas state legislature. And he’s the one who likes Ayn Rand. No, he loves Ayn Rand. Her novels AND also her philosophy. She’s his favorite philosopher…as if anyone actually has a favorite philosopher…whatever. Anyway, he’s been upset that I’m an English major. Says that, like, it isn’t a practical degree, and that it’ll never lead to a good job. Somehow, he heard about Professor Siemens, or maybe he just heard about the Ayn Rand Center at ASU, I don’t really know? So, he told me that IF I took some courses from her and IF I wrote my honors thesis on something related to Ayn Rand, that he’d buy me an Audi for graduation. Just the A3, but still…you know?”

  “Well, good luck on that.” As she listened, Jillian thought, first, that she actually did have a favorite philosopher, and second, she thought about her own car, the Corolla that was a graduation gift from her parents…only without the strings attached.

  “Ms. Nagel, let me get back to some questions about Professor Siemens. A fairly standard question is…do you know if she had any enemies?”

  “You know, Detective…I’m sorry, could you tell me your name again?”

  “It’s Warne.”

  “Thanks, Detective Warne, I guess I’m a little…like, I don’t know what I am…just…weirded-out? So, even though Professor Siemens was my thesis director, I didn’t see her much…you know…in class, for sure, and I’ve been to office a few times about my thesis. But, it’s always pretty much down to business. No chit chat.”

  “Sure, I understand. Well then, how about in class…with the other students? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  Jillian heard her exhale. “Well, like I said, she wasn’t very pro-student.”

  “Someone who we’ve talked with said that she had a reputation for being especially tough on students of color. Ever see that?”

  Another exhale. “Yah, I guess, maybe? She’d say things like ‘no one should expect any preferential treatment because of identity politics…whatever….’ That always seemed, I don’t know, like out of place because it just came out of nowhere. There were some black students in class, and maybe a couple of Latina girls, too, but her comments were just…like, out of place…you know? I guess they made everyone feel like weird, and I guess the students of color felt worse, but I didn’t know any of them, so I don’t really know. Mainly, she was just boring.”

  “OK, I see. So, did anyone in the class seem to be especially upset or even angry?”

  “No, like I said, everyone was pretty much weirded-out.”

  “But you stuck with her for your thesis?”

  “Yah…this is embarrassing, but I really wanted that Audi. And now, I just don’t know… So, like the girl who you knew who lost her thesis director…so she made it through OK?”

  “Yes, she did. And, here’s one other thing I want to say, Ms. Nagel. What happened to you yesterday was very traumatic, and I’d suggest that you see a counselor. ASU has them, and they’re very good. I can even give you the phone…”

  “Thanks, that’s nice, but, Ms. Wilson—she’s not the head of English, but she’s something—anyway, she already gave me a card—it’s a counselor she actually knows—and she really wanted me to make an appointment. I haven’t done that yet…”

  “That’s good advice, Ms. Nagel,” Jillian said, and smiled about Grace Wilson. “Please consider doing it.”

  “OK, I promise, I’ll call when we hang up.” She hesitated, then said, “And so, while you’re on, maybe you could tell me…is ASU, like, open again?”

  “Yes, ASU is officially re-opened…for classes, the libraries, everything.”

  “Yah, OK.”

  Jillian thought she sounded disappointed.” She smiled. “But, Ms. Nagel, if you aren’t ready to go back to class yet, you know, given what happened to you, if you need a little more time, I’m sure that if you see an ASU counselor…they’d write you an excuse from classes…at least for a while.”

  “Yah…that sounds great,” she said, upbeat again. “Thanks, Detective Warne…somehow I think you’ve helped me more than I’ve helped you.”

  “What a nice thing to say. And listen, I’ll give you my phone number in case you think of anything you think I should know. Or just to call for whatever reason.”

  Wes wasn’t at his desk when she rang-off, so Jillian took a few minutes and organized her interview notes with Carla Nagel. She closed her IPAD when she finished, and thought about the student…she felt for her. Doing an honors thesis was difficult under the best of circumstances, and obviously these weren’t the best of circumstances. Jillian hoped that she’d call the counselor that Grace had recommended.

  For a time, she just stared into space…thinking about her own undergrad days. Honors students are used to making A’s on their papers—they’re smart, which is why they’re honors students—but when you start the thesis project, suddenly nothing you do seems good enough anymore.

  Jillian remembered that she’d turned-in the first draft of her thesis to Carolyn feeling so good about it: she’d worked really hard on that draft AND she was ahead of schedule. Maybe a week went by and she’d gotten an email from Carolyn asking her to come by her office
to discuss the draft. Jillian had gone to Carolyn’s office feeling really proud, but left feeling like an amoeba. Although Carolyn had been positive in her verbal comments, the hard copy of her paper was a different story: page after page of red marks, strike-outs; questions, and more questions. The writing wasn’t good enough; there were problems with noun/verb agreement; other comments read ‘run-on sentence;’ sometimes Carolyn had simply written ‘unclear” beside a sentence.’ There were even more comments about Jillian’s argument: ‘inadequate thesis statement;’ ‘need more cites to other research;’ ‘too much exposition, not enough quotes from the data;’ maybe worst of all, some comments she just could barely decipher because they started along the left margin, looped up to the top of the page, and down the other side margin. It was all Jillian could do not to cry.

  The thing about Carolyn, though, is that even though she was so demanding and in a fairly detached way, she remained very positive throughout the meeting. She told Jillian that it was an excellent first draft, and that because she was ahead of schedule, there was more than enough time to complete the next draft by the end of the month. Still, Jillian left Carolyn’s office feeling really low. BUT, she did get the next draft in by the end of the month. There still were lots of red marks on the revised draft, but not as many. And, a year-and-a half later, a greatly shortened and heavily edited version of her honors thesis was published in Feminist Criminology, or Fem Crim, as Carolyn called the journal.

  Wes returned with some forms, including a temporary password so that Jillian could access Tempe PD’s WYFY system. He also had a form for her photo, which Wes had arranged to be taken now. He walked with her to another part of the building for that, and as they walked, told her that they were set to meet Professor David Roberts at Professor Siemens’ BAC office in an hour and a half.

  That worked-out well because it gave Jillian time to meet with Andrew Paxton, the English student. Before he arrived, though, she still had time to tell Wes about her real google homework.

  She described the price of the Professor’s home office chairs AND of her art collection. His eyes went wide when she told him about the $20K painting.

  He said, “So, in addition to the little matter of how a professor could afford a million-dollar plus condo, we have to add-in the issue of the rest of her lifestyle…and her champagne tastes.”

  “I knew her pricy art collection would get your attention.”

  “Yes, indeed.” He scrunched up his mouth, then said, “This is probably a long shot, but given all of the Professor’s high-end stuff, I’d like to have a look at her will. She’s obviously worth a lot…could be a motive.”

  “Good idea.”

  Wes said, “Oh, and I’m sure you noticed that ASU re-opened for business…”

  “Yes, I saw the announcement last night before I went to bed. By the way, I’m meeting with Andrew Paxton in a little while…he’s the English student I told you about…want to be in on that?”

  Wes thought, then said, “Better not. I’m going to get with Angel and see if there’s anything new from the lab.”

  “Sounds good…and I should have plenty of time with Paxton before we have to leave for the interview with Professor Roberts.“

  Soon, her desk phone (Eduardo’s phone) buzzed. “You have a guest here at Reception, Detective Sergeant Warne,” the caller said.

  Jillian was surprised that anyone knew that she was at Eduardo’s desk. But then, she said, “Is that you, Joy?”

  “Yes indeed, and welcome back, Detective Sergeant,” she said these words with emphasis…then laughed. I had an email—we all did—that you’re back and using Eduardo Lin’s desk. It’s nice to know your up there…even if it’s just for a while. So, would you like me to send Mr. Paxton up?”

  “No, I’ll ride down and get him…and say hi to you. See you in a second.”

  Jillian took the elevator to the lobby, said hello to Joy, then greeted Andrew Paxton, and showed him her identification. On the ride up, she said, “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Paxton.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like I had much choice…”

  “Still, we appreciate it. We’re interviewing people with any connections to Professor Siemens.”

  “You mean people with bad connections,” he said, lifting his chin as if making a point. ”This is about our grievance?”

  “Yes, that and the walkout.”

  “Thought so. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, for starters, why don’t you tell me about it?”

  The elevator door opened and they walked along the hall, Jillian in the lead…she was heading for the first open interrogation room. Almost as if by silent agreement, neither spoke till Paxton was seated.

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Paxton?”

  “Yeah, I’d take a bottle of water.”

  “O.K. I’ll be right back.”

  She returned in less than a minute, hung an “In Use” sign on the doorknob, and closed the door behind her.

  Paxton had taken a seat facing the door. Although he was quiet, his right hand was taping against the table, although he stopped when she re-entered the room. Jillian thought that his fairly brash demeanor was meant to mask his nervousness.

  As she sat, Jillian scooted the small water bottle across the desk. “You were going to tell me about your run-in with Professor Siemens…”

  Even seated, Paxton was tall. When they were on the elevator, Jillian estimated his height as a good 6 feet, maybe even a little taller. He seemed on the thin side, but probably that was because he was so tall. He was very pale and had close-cropped hair, almost like a military haircut. His most notable feature was several large tattoos. These were on both arms, and they ran from his forearms to where they disappeared under his short sleeve shirt.

  Paxton’s tats were large and bold and in a blue-black ink. Jillian thought they were lightning bolts, but realized that they were just angular, jagged designs. At first glance, they appeared to be alike, but on closer inspection she realized that the tat on his right arm was a mirror opposite of that on the left arm.

  She remembered that he was graduating senior, but he looked to Jillian to be a little older than a typical college senior…maybe 25 or 26.

  “Not a lot to tell,” he said as he unscrewed the cap of the water bottle. Jillian notice the absence of any “thanks” or any kind of acknowledgement for the water.

  “Mostly, I’d say it was just an example of white privilege.” His expression was as if showing disdain…for Professor Siemens, maybe for her, for Jillian…she couldn’t tell. Paxton took a loud sip of water, then held on to the bottle.

  He continued, “In class…this was the second class—she just handed-out the syllabus at the first class—she was telling us not to expect any favors because of our color or gender.”

  “She actually said that?”

  “Well, not in so many words, but basically, that was her point…yeah. So, the three of us just walked…I mean nothing planned or anything…really, we didn’t even know each other. Anyway, we went over to the MU and talked…me, the girl, Kishonna, and the dude, Sydney. And we decided to do a grievance against her. So, Kishonna whips out an IPADs and we crank-it-out. Sydney and I helped, but mostly it was Kishonna who wrote it.”

  “And the outcome?”

  “Yeah, well, she claimed that she was just against affirmative action and regulations like that…said they were unfair to students and that they also imposed on her academic freedom,” he overemphasized this last phrase as if to disparage it. “And yeah, well, they decided in her favor…duh.”

  “So, what happened next?”

  “Nothing…what’d you expect?” He paused, but when Jillian said nothing, he continued. “They let us drop her class…I really don’t know why I signed-up for it in the first place…guess I wanted to check-out this controversial professor…my bad. At least by lett
ing us drop, we didn’t have to sit down for some heart-to-heart with the lady. Anyway, we all got into something better…at least something that wasn’t insulting.”

  Jillian was quiet; so was Paxton. Finally, he added, “I mean, she can say what she wants and ASU can have her back, but I was there…I know what she said, and it was obvious how she meant it.”

  The only movement in the room was Paxton’s hand, which had started drumming on the table again. He took another sip of water.

  “Have you seen Professor Siemens since then…or lately?”

  “Not really. So, I’m a graduating senior, and I’ve been to the English Department a couple of times to talk with an advisor…you know, senior checkout? But I didn’t see here either time.”

  Paxton thought for a few seconds, then said, “The only time I saw her was not long after the decision came down on our grievance…I was in the building because of an appointment with another professor. As I was walking down the hall, all of a sudden she comes around a corner…she just looks right through me…like I’m not even there…you know?”

  Jillian nodded, then said, “OK, so let’s change topics…tell me about the ‘disturbing the peace’ incident.”

  “Oh yeah, you know about that, too?”

  She nodded again.

  Paxton’s fingers were drumming like crazy now. “Yeah, well…so OK, I went to this rally on campus…on the lawn above the library. The people holding it were Neo-Nazis…I mean, they call themselves ‘the Alt-Right’ or ‘White Nationalists,’ but they’re Neo-Nazis. And I called them out…and one of their security guys got in my face…and one thing led to another…what can I say? I had a public defender and he said it was best for me to cop a plea…disturbing the peace…a misdemeanor. I got on probation…no time in Arpaio’s ‘tent city…’ plus I had to take an anger management course. The thing is, though, I had to pay for being on probation AND for that course...can you believe that…I mean, talk about the correctional industrial complex.”

  “What about the other guy…who you were fighting with?”

  “Same class…even the same night as me…the guy…what a jerk.”